


My (Im)mortal

by Woland



Series: The Slayer Chronicles [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale's Family is Awful, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Temporary loss of immortality, Vampire AU, Vampire Slayers, Yes there will be a happy ending, and they get a lot worse before they get better, bad things happen, but there may be room for redemption for some of them, but they do get better eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:46:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29810001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woland/pseuds/Woland
Summary: Four years have passed since the Blood Moon ritual.  Crowley and Aziraphale are living together.  Adam is learning to drive a car. Gabriel and Hastur are plotting their revenge.  Oh, and there's a (potentially deadly) Cure out there that could turn a vampire human once again.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: The Slayer Chronicles [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1999774
Comments: 35
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ahem... Well, I'm back with this nonsense. More vampire!Crowley and slayer!Aziraphale. You ready? It's gonna be one angsty, whumpy ride!

“Crowley? Crowley, dear, are you back here? I bought this lovely….” Aziraphale cuts himself off, stumbling to an awkward halt in the doorway as his gaze falls on the petite, dark-haired person sitting on the sofa next to Crowley. “Oh,” he states ineloquently, offering a small, confused smile, “I didn’t realize we had visitors.”

“Angel!” Crowley’s answering smile looks a bit strained, uneasy. Like he hasn’t been expecting Aziraphale. Like this was, somehow, a bad time.

Aziraphale’s senses immediately go on alert, his eyes narrowing on the dark-haired stranger, nostrils flaring as he takes in the scent of the room and…. There! Right alongside Crowley’s faint but distinctive vampire signature that he has learned to recognize over the last four years (thanks to the intensive training his darling partner put him through in an effort to make sure he would never again be taken unawares by an older vampire), there is another. Faint and just as old.

Vampire. Their guest, _Crowley’s_ guest is a vampire. 

Aziraphale feels himself tense, his hand, the one not currently holding the little box of pastries he’d bought to share with Crowley, straying to the silver sheath hidden beneath the folds of his coat.

Crowley notices the gesture and stands hurriedly. Takes a step toward him, placing himself a bit in front of the other vampire.

“Angel, this is Beatrice,” he says with a kind of placating caution in his voice that sets Aziraphale’s teeth on edge. “They’re a… an old friend.”

“Old friend, huh.” Funny, he thinks with a pang of jealous hurt, in the four years they’ve lived together Crowley never once mentioned them.

Crowley shifts awkwardly under his knowing stare. Turns back to their visitor as though seeking assistance. “Bea,” he says, tense, “this is my partner, Aziraphale.”

The other vampire looks past him at Aziraphale, pale blue eyes drifting with bored curiosity to the slayer’s face. Then, lazily, they push to their feet and walk around Crowley to approach him. 

“Pleazzzure,” they buzz in a tone that suggests anything but, sticking out a small pale hand for Aziraphale to shake. “Heard a lot about you.”

Aziraphale glances briefly down at the outstretched hand, then back up at their face, demonstratively tugging at the hem of his vest. “I’m afraid I can’t say the same,” he says, letting enough ice slip into his voice to make Crowley cringe.

Their visitor on the other hand seems quite amused by it, a spark of genuine delight brightening their dull expressionless eyes. “Oooh, feisty,” they drawl out, lips curling in an appreciative smile that gives Aziraphale a glimpse of perfectly white teeth and canines that are just a tad too sharp. “I can see why you like ‘im, Crowley.”

“Bea,” Crowley growls, his mouth twisting in displeasure, “don’t.”

They shrug, hands raised in conciliation. Take a step back. “Well,” they say, their eyes once more losing their momentary luster, “I suppose I should be going.” They cock their head toward Crowley. “Do let me know what you decide, Crowley. I’ll be in town until Thursday, you know where to find me.”

Crowley nods wordlessly, and they walk off with not so much as a glance in Aziraphale’s direction.

“Well,” Aziraphale huffs out when the door slams shut behind their visitor, “that was certainly interesting.” He looks at Crowley, who gives him a wan smile in return. “Here I thought all your _old friends_ were burned to ash in that abandoned monastery in Dartford.”

Crowley flinches at his words. Sighs. “Look… I… I know I owe you an explanation, so can we just….” He gestures helplessly back at the sofa, his gaze pleading.

“Very well.” Aziraphale relents, follows him further into the room to sit primly on the edge of the cushions. 

Crowley doesn’t sit down. Begins to pace nervously in front of the sofa, hand ruffling the already tousled hair.

“Bea is…. I helped them out a long time ago and…. They think they owe me,” he begins, halting. 

“Helped them out? How?”

“I…uh….” Crowley’s shoulders twitch in discomfort – an endearing tell Aziraphale noticed about him whenever his darling vampire is forced to confront his own undeniable goodness. “They… uh… used to be one of Lucius’ right-hand vamps, but… um… they wanted out. Out of the coven, away from Lucius. Don’t… don’t know why.”

Aziraphale thinks back to the black-eyed vampire he’d met four years ago in that dank blood-soaked basement. “I imagine it didn’t go over well with Lucius,” he says.

“No.” Crowley shakes his head, chuckles humorlessly. “They were… in pretty bad shape when I found them. But… but they were still alive, so…. I mean, I was still running with Lucius at the time, but I could understand why someone would want to… to leave. Couldn’t… couldn’t really fault them. So I… I got them some blood, smuggled them on a boat that was heading across the Channel….”

Aziraphale smiles, exasperated and fond. “Seems to be a recurring theme with you, darling.”

The softness in his voice is unmistakable, and Crowley stumbles mid-stride, head snapping up to stare at Aziraphale. Whatever expression he sees on Aziraphale’s face makes him blush furiously and duck his head anew.

“I’m… uh… I haven’t heard from them in centuries, angel, I swear.” He begins pacing again. “But there’ve been rumors of a vampire working on the Cure, and I… I knew it had to be them – they were the only ones I knew to ever talk about it.”

“The Cure?” Aziraphale’s brow furrows.

“Mhmm.” Crowley nods, distractedly. “A way to reverse vampire physiology. To… to make us human again.”

Aziraphale doesn’t realize that he’s been silent for far too long – just sitting there, staring dumbly before him – until Crowley’s voice cuts into his stunned consciousness.

“Angel?”

He blinks. Looks up at Crowley who’s stopped his pacing once more, frowning down at him with a concerned look in his warm, amber eyes.

“I’m… uh….” He shakes his head, forces his thoughts back into some sort of order. “So you contacted them?”

“I did.” Crowley nods again, still staring at him expectantly.

“And this Cure?”

“They’ve done it, angel.” Crowley’s face splits into a wide, giddy smile. “There’re still some kinks they’ve gotta work out, of course, but it’s there, it’s ready.”

“Kinks.”

“M’yeah.” Crowley’s smile sours just a little. “Just some stability issues with the compound. But they’re working on that,” he assures hurriedly. “Told me they can have it ready for me to test out in a couple days.”

“Test out?” Aziraphale latches on to that detail, the pang of apprehension that shot through him at Crowley’s cautiously delivered caveat now growing into full-blown peals of alarm.

Crowley must see something in his face, for he steps closer, waving his hands in energetic denial. “S’not like that, Zira, don’t worry. I won’t be their test subject or anything. They’ve already done enough of that. S’just… hasn’t always worked out right, not for everyone, but… but the compound has been stabilized a lot more since then and….”

“How many died?”

“Angel….”

“How many, Crowley?”

He deflates, smile falling altogether. “Fifteen,” he divulges, reluctant. “Four older vamps and eleven fledglings.”

“And how many total did they test it on?” Aziraphale presses, unrelenting.

Crowley drops his gaze to the floor. “Sixteen,” he says, barely audible.

Aziraphale feels sick. “So, let me get this straight,” he says, getting to his feet. “Out of the sixteen vampires that have tried out this compound, fifteen have died. And you thought to yourself, ‘hey, these are great odds, I’ll have me some of that’?” He’s aware that he’s shouting by the end of his tirade, but he cannot help it. The mere thought of Crowley going behind his back to do something so incredibly dangerous and quite possibly fatal wrenches away the last of his self-control.

Crowley’s jaw ticks. “Bea has assured me that the compound is stable enough to bring the risk down considerably,” he responds, voice tight.

“But there’s still a _risk_ , Crowley!”

Crowley closes his eyes for a moment, breathes, in and out. “And it would be worth it, Zira,” he says, quiet but determined, eyes flying open once more to stare back at him. “It would be worth it.”

“How?” Aziraphale shakes his head, incredulous. “How could this possibly–”

“Because I’m a vampire!” It’s Crowley’s turn to shout now, his body taut, hands fisted tight against his sides. “I’m a bloody vampire, angel. I’m the monster that haunts children’s dreams. I’m the reason you stopped going to those little restaurants where they know you, the reason you keep goddamn blood bags in the fridge instead.”

“Crowley….” Aziraphale puts a trembling hand to his chest, swallows against a steadily growing lump in his throat. “Darling, you know… you _know_ none of those things matter to me. I lo–” 

“They matter to _me_ , angel!” Crowley steps closer, golden eyes gleaming. “I want a life with you. Proper, _human_ life. You shouldn’t have to be shackled to a monster.”

“You’re not a monster, Crowley,” he protests, breathless, because… _this_? _This_ is what his darling has believed all this time? Hasn’t Aziraphale showed him enough, proved to him enough to convince him otherwise?

Crowley moves, faster than human eye can detect, and suddenly he’s on him, transformed, clawed hands gripping his shoulders, fanged mouth a hair’s breadth away from his face. “Aren’t I?” he hisses, those unnatural, molten gold eyes boring into his own.

Aziraphale flinches, he can’t help it. It’s natural, it’s instinctive. And he absolutely hates himself for it.

Crowley releases him and pulls back, the vampire slipping once more under the surface. But the point’s been made, quite dramatically, too, and there’s a bitter knowing smile twisting Crowley’s lips.

“I gotta go,” he says, voice hollow and thick with self-loathing, his gaze locked somewhere in the vicinity of Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Promised Adam another lesson today. I’ll see you later, angel.”

He walks away without a backwards glance, the door closing with a soft click behind him that feels so wrong and so final that Aziraphale flinches once again, overcome by sudden, inexplicable fear. 

He should run after Crowley, he thinks. Should drag him back inside, talk to him, plead with him to believe him, to understand.

Only… only Crowley wouldn’t want him to do that now, would he. Crowley left. Crowley’s upset with him. Crowley needs time. He will be back, though. He will be back and then Aziraphale will do what’s right. Will prove to Crowley once and for all that he doesn’t need to risk his life to give Aziraphale what he _thinks_ Aziraphale wants. That Aziraphale loves him wholly, perfectly, completely, just the way he is.

Yes, he thinks, moving on autopilot towards the kitchen where he forces his trembling, uncooperative limbs to obey him enough to make himself a cup of tea. That is exactly what he’ll do.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

“Lay off the gas.”

Adam frowns at the grumbled command. Flicks his gaze to the speedometer. “I’m not even going that fast,” he protests. “Seen _you_ drive way faster.”

Crowley scowls at him from the passenger seat of his treasured Bentley. “You’re not a vampire, last I checked,” he points out, voice harsh. “No enhanced senses, no increased reaction time. If some idiot swerves in front of you when you’re going 90, you think you’re gonna be able to avoid ‘im? Think you’re gonna be able to stop in time if a dog runs out in front of you?” He leans across the seat, closer to the boy. Snarls in his face. “Ssslow down. Back to 50. Now!”

Adam’s lips thin into a sulk, but he obeys, dutifully dropping the speed down to 50 miles per hour. “This is way too slow,” he complains. “We’re holding up traffic. Look!”

As if to illustrate his point a silver Volvo SUV sails hurriedly around them, its driver laying on the horn as they pass. 

Crowley gives them a one-finger salute in the windshield. Then turns his attention back to Adam. “S’no traffic on this road, and you know it,” he retorts, irritable. “S’the whole reason I bring you out here. This is the first car we’ve seen in the past twenty minutes. So stop complaining and drive or I take over and drop you back off at your parents’ house.”

Adam’s sulk deepens. “Someone didn’t have their ‘Snickers’ this morning,” he mutters under his breath.

Crowley, of course, hears him just fine. “You keep this up,” he warns with a low growl, “and I just might see if _you_ taste like one.”

The kid rolls his eyes at him, knowing the threat for the toothless aggression it is. At times like this Crowley regrets not being the proper evil vampire he was meant to become. The little brat has lost all respect for him, it’s embarrassing. 

Adam meanwhile turns his gaze back to the road, brow still furrowed in thought. “Why _are_ you so cranky today anyway,” he asks. “You’re acting like Pepper did after she got into an argument with her new boyfriend.” He pauses, frown deepening. Shoots Crowley another look. “Did you and Aziraphale have a fight?”

Crowley nearly chokes on air. “You’re not _seriously_ comparing me to a hormonal teenage girl.”

Adam shrugs with the kind of carefree nonchalance that makes the borrowed blood in Crowley’s veins boil. “Just saying it’s similar,” he says. “So did you?” He squints Crowley’s way again, eyes alight with cheeky curiosity. “Argue with him? ‘Cause if you did, you should probably apologize.”

“What makes you think _I’m_ the one at fault?” Crowley bristles.

Adam’s response is a gleeful smirk. “You _did_ argue then. I was right!”

Crowley counts to ten in his head, takes a deliberately slow, steadying breath. “Just drive the car, … _Antichrist_.”

***

They’ve just coming around the bend, and Adam is once again flooring the pedal to make up the speed lost on the turn. And Crowley is just about to open his mouth to rein him in, when a movement up ahead catches his eye, something darting into the path of their speeding car.

He reacts instantly. Wrenches the wheel from Adam, steering the Bentley sharply to the left to sail past the shape that barrels onto the roadway from the vicinity shoulder, waving wildly to get their attention. 

“Brakes!” he snarls, and Adam complies, the Bentley screeching to a shuddering, rubber-burning halt as Crowley struggles to keep her steady. _Fuck!_ His baby is gonna need new tires after this. _Fuck, fuckity-fuck-fuck!_

He glances in the rearview mirror and glowers. The human that caused this mess – and, yes, it’s a human, stocky and bald – is still standing in the middle of the road, still waving at them, beckoning them to come over. The silver Volvo that had overtaken them earlier can be seen behind him, sitting sideways on the shoulder, its two front wheels disappearing in the roadside ditch.

_Fuck_.

He turns to Adam then. The boy’s hands are back on the wheel, trembling. He looks pale, eyes wide. His heart is racing, Crowley can hear it, beating loud and frantic against his senses.

He swallows, runs his tongue over his canines, forcing himself to tune it out. _Human_ , he reminds himself. _Stay human_.

“Adam.” He reaches for the boy’s shoulder, squeezes it gently. “You alright?”

A beat passes, then the kid nods, albeit shakily. Crowley nods, too. Releases his grip, clapping him lightly on the back as he moves his hand away.

“I didn’t see him,” Adam murmurs, almost inaudible. “I just… he came out so fast, I thought….” He turns to Crowley, a lost, scared look in his eyes that makes Crowley’s dead heart twist with protective anger. “I almost killed him.”

Crowley grits his teeth at the wobbly whisper. Shakes his head. “Not your fault,” he protests gruffly. “The guy’s not a damn dog to be running out into the road like that. Should know better.” 

He glances at the rearview mirror again. The guy’s still there, waving at them, waiting. There are no other cars in sight. Probably won’t be anyone else coming through here for hours. It’s an old road, a wild, scenic serpentine that winds and bends with the landscape. It’s gorgeous, but it takes forever to reach any destination of note, and none of the locals use it since there’s a much faster road leading out of the town. The guy’s likely a tourist who didn’t know any better. And now he’s stuck out here with a car in a ditch. Probably can’t even call for help, since mobile coverage out here in the Hogback Woods area is shit.

_Fuck._

He sighs. Puts his hand on the door handle. “You stay here,” he orders Adam, making sure his tone leaves no room for objections. “Lock the doors and wait for me.” He glances around the darkened woods that fence them in on both sides. He can’t sense any vampire presence there, but one just never knows. “If you see anyone or anything, you drive the hell home. Got it?”

Adam’s eyes widen even more. He swivels in his seat, throws a wary glance at the man in the road. “What about you?” he protests. “I can’t just leave–”

“You’ll drive _home_ , Adam.” Crowley lets a bit of his True Form slip through, curls his upper lip to show off the sudden sharpness of his canines. “You underssstand?”

The boy nods, and Crowley, satisfied, gets out of the car, gently closing the door behind him – a quiet apology to the Bentley for making her brake so damn hard.

“Oi, you, idiot,” he yells at the man in the road once he’s swaggered into the hearing distance. “The hell you think you’re doing running out in front of a car like that!”

“Sorry, I know, I’m sorry.” The man raises his hands in a placating gesture, but there’s an expression of relief on his round, clean-shaven face. And of something else Crowley can’t quite parse. “I just… I lost control coming out of the bend there, and the car’s stuck… and… My wife… she’s in labor. I need… Help, I need help. Please.”

Crowley flicks a glance at the SUV then back at the man. “People don’t normally go on a scenic drive when their wife’s in labor,” he points out dryly. “This here ain’t exactly the fastest route to the hospital.”

“I know that _now_ ,” the man’s pudgy nose twitches, dark beady eyes looking at him imploringly. “Please, sir. If you could just help me push the car back up onto the road, my wife and I can be on our way.”

Crowley purses his lips, acquiesces with a one-shouldered shrug. “Yeah, sure, alright,” he grumbles, already walking toward the stuck SUV.

“Oh, thank you!” The man trots alongside him, his shorter legs hurrying to catch up to Crowley’s longer strides. “I was so worried that we’d be stuck here for good. I couldn’t even get a call out.”

“Yeah,” Crowley confirms distractedly, coming around the front of the car. Through the windshield he can see a woman in the back seat – tightly coiffed hair, pale face, thin lips. “No reception out here. Not many travelers either.”

“I figured as much.” The man, inexplicably, smiles – a wide, toothy smile that sparkles golden in the fading afternoon light. “If you could help me push?” he says, placing his hands on the hood of the car and looking expectantly at Crowley. 

Crowley nods and follows suit. Pushes, trying not to use too much of his strength, not to give himself away as anything more than human. The car jolts and rolls obediently backwards onto the road, stopping at a crooked but stable angle. The man lets go immediately and hurries to the back of the car, presumably to check on his pale-faced wife. So Crowley pulls away, too. Straightens up to his full height. Takes a step towards the waiting Bentley. And…

…Stumbles. Suddenly. Inexplicably. Staggers a bit drunkenly on his feet as the road before him momentarily loses focus. He blinks, looks dazedly down at his hands that, he has only now become aware, have begun to tingle uncomfortably. A tingle that seems to be growing in intensity, spreading well past the skin of his palm and fingertips.

“What the….”

The road blurs again, the trees on either side of him swaying in tune with his strangely stuttered heartbeat. Or maybe he’s the one swaying?

“Silver paint,” the man speaks from somewhere behind him. He sounds smug somehow. “I told Gabriel, I said, ‘You can’t have silver paint without silver’.” He laughs. “Clever, isn’t it?”

“Silver,” Crowley murmurs, his tongue growing leaden in his mouth. Poison. He’s been poisoned. He needs to…. They know who he is. They…. _Adam_! He needs to get to the boy, get him away. He needs….

“New formula, much more potent,” the man confirms, and he sounds much closer now. Too close.

Crowley takes a step away. Tries to. But the road dips and he finds himself kneeling, one hand pressed against the dusty pavement. 

_Up_ , he tells himself, struggling feebly to get back to his feet. _Up_! _You gotta_ ….

“Here,” the man’s voice rolls over him, smarmy and smug to the point of nausea. “Let me help you with that.”

Something blunt and heavy crashes into the back of his skull, and he falls all the way forward, his head bouncing against the asphalt.

“There,” he hears, faint and faraway, “that’s better.”

He struggles still. Twitches weakly toward the dark blob of the Bentley, but it’s no use. His consciousness flickers like the light of the dying bulb, sputtering and splintering between one breath and the next. And his last thought, as the blurry silhouette of the Bentley blinks out for the last time, devoured by the darkness that descends upon him, is that he dearly, dearly hopes Adam does as he’s been told.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ominous drum roll* So it begins....


End file.
